Breaking Point
by Ankh-Ascendant
Summary: Lucius discovers his wife has been abusing his son, and in the ensuing consequences the Malfoys are pushed to limits they didn't know they had.


_TITLE: Breaking Point  
CHAPTER: 1/5ish?  
AUTHOR: Ankh Ascendant ( setosgirl0 / neferseti0 )  
DATE: 1-23-10  
FANDOM: Harry Potter  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, or make any money from it.  
PAIRINGS: Only some Narcissa/Draco abuse  
TYPE: Drama  
RATING: PG-13 for the most part; more scenes of abuse in later chapters  
WARNINGS: themes of sexual child abuse  
OCs: none  
BETA: none  
WORDS: 4754  
SUMMARY: Lucius discovers his wife has been abusing his son, and in the ensuing consequences the Malfoys are pushed to limits they didn't know they had.  
NOTES: I started this as the second chapter to another story, but it's turned into an expansion and slight reimagining of the idea from that story instead. That story would be 'Narcissim'( _.?no=600024386_ ). Also, I've been watching too much Law & Order: SVU recently; this is more about the consequences, legal, moral, and psychological, of the abuse than the abuse itself. _

* * *

_Breaking Point_

_Chapter 1_

Malfoy manor was silent when its master Apparated in the foyer.

That was hardly surprising. It wasn't exactly common for the mansion to ring with noise, and as far as he knew it might actually be empty. Narcissa didn't care much for solitude; she might have gone shopping, or seeking the company of her insane sister. His lip curled a touch as he moved down the hall, unbuttoning his outer robe to relax. Bellatrix... the Dark Lord's favorite indeed. She might as well be, she was every ounce as insane as he, and so much worse at concealing it. Honestly, despite his wife's protestations about family and whatnot, he hoped she'd be reapprehended soon and spend the rest of her life in Azkaban, out of his hair. It would also suit him if she died, of course...

He wondered idly if she would have taken Draco with her, if she were out. Whether she did seemed to depend on her mood; if she was with her sister, he hoped not. He didn't need that kind of influence, the boy had enough problems controlling his emotions. Too much of that volatile Black blood, he supposed...

At any rate, if he was home, he was probably either working on his summer schoolwork or reading from the library. There was no need, he decided, to trouble either him or Narcissa, if she was here, with the knowledge that he was home early. He'd see them at dinner. Until then, he had a letter to write to assure that pompous little Minister that of course he was right to ignore all of those pesky signs of Dark Arts, and some interesting artifacts that wanted his attention...

His train of thought was broken as he pushed open the door to the drawing room, expecting only to find it empty. Instead his eyes were arrested by the sight of his son leaning over the couch by the window with his clothes in disarray, and under him, hidden but for her bare legs and the flow of her blonde hair by the angle, was his wife.

The scene shocked him into convulsively gripping his wand. It was an attack only on his morals, however; as little as he wanted to see, there was only one interpretation of their position, only one thing Draco could be doing to her...

He did not know or want to know _why_, or the circumstances, or what rationalization he could have... but he could not help but know that for some unfathomable reason his son was on top of his wife, kissing, groping...

Lucius had never been a man to lose control, especially of himself, yet he found himself grabbing his son by the hair and pulling him backward as hard as he could. He heard a gasp of pain as Draco fell to the floor; their shocked faces barely registered on him, and he grabbed the teen's collar and pulled him to his feet.

Oddly, his mind felt completely clear. There was no film of rage or undeniable impulse to do as he did, only a disconnect between his mind and body. He found himself an observer within his mind as he pulled his son out of the room. Draco stumbled, but he refused to let him fall or slow to catch his footing. He realized clinically that he was extremely angry, and disgusted, and shocked, yet the feelings were distant and only vaguely interesting.

Draco stumbled again as he shoved him through the next door and let him go, but didn't fall. Instead he turned around to face him, backing away uncertainly. His pants were unbuttoned, hanging open, his shirt hiked up to expose half his stomach, and his robes hanging half off him. His hands looked nervous as they pulled fruitlessly at the front of his robe as though to cover him, but his face only showed the shock and uncertainty of a person caught in the act.

"Your mother, Draco," he heard himself say. His voice was low and cold, angry but without rage. He sounded normal – disappointed, disgusted, but normal. "Your own mother, how could you? What have you done, Draco?"

Something in Draco broke; he watched it in his face. His expression cracked and turned into a grimace of pain; he took another step backward with his head bowed and stumbled to his knees, yanking his robes tight around him. He doubled over as though he were going to be sick or was in pain.

He sharply tilted Draco's head back, and as he met his wet grey eyes it struck him – a wild side effect of studying Occlumency, he was uncontrollably projecting. A furious tumult of emotions poured into his mind, and he felt them all as clearly as if they were his own: pain, betrayal, humiliation, a powerless hatred and a helpless love, all wrapped so thoroughly in confusion he couldn't hope to understand them. Draco was much more emotional than he was by nature, but he knew that even he couldn't possibly understand what he was feeling... and that was why it consumed him so.

It severed the disconnect between his mind and body, and he crouched down in front of his son. As suddenly as he realized his anger was completely misdirected, it vanished – not gone, but stored away so that he could deal with it, and his wife, later. He wrapped his arms around Draco and held him close, feeling suddenly and incredibly protective and not even bothering to hide it.

"I'm sorry," he heard Draco whisper. Tremors shook the muscles of his back.

"Don't apologize." He smoothed out the mussed hair and winced inwardly as he thought of how he'd just treated him, throwing him around in anger. He was not proud of that. "I'm sorry. It will be all right, now."

Draco shook again, then he felt hands clutching at his robes, and wetness on his shoulder. Draco cried nearly silent tears and clutched at him for support, and he stayed and held him.

_ – =*= – _

It had happened quickly, and Draco's tears also passed quickly. Even though he was emotional for a Malfoy, he wasn't used to giving in to tears, and the sudden outpouring of emotion was reigned in within a few minutes.

Lucius spent the interim considering the situation as coolly as he could. It was actually amazing, as angry as he was, how rational he felt... and yet, for perhaps the first time in his life, he couldn't come up with a plan. He had some very interesting ideas about what to do to her, to be certain, but he had yet to decide what he was going to do.

Finally, Draco took a hitching breath and let go of his robes, pulling away from his shoulder and almost out of his arms. The way he hunched down around himself looked very uncertain; he looked like he expected to be punished and couldn't fight it. "I'm sorry," he murmured with his head bowed, wiping his sleeve over his eyes to try to erase the tears. "I couldn't help it..."

Whether he meant the spontaneous breakdown or what he had been doing with his mother, Lucius didn't know, but they had the same answer. "Don't apologize," he repeated, standing and taking his hands from Draco. He looked pathetically alone... he wished he knew what to do. There wasn't much he could, but there was one thing within his area of expertise: punishment. "Stay here. I'll deal with her."

Draco looked up. He flinched inwardly and almost shied away from meeting his son's eyes – not because he was still projecting, but because of the desperate emotions written plain across his tear-streaked face. He didn't like dealing with such unfettered, unrestrained emotions; he wanted to believe his son was better than that, and yet, as his father, he couldn't fault him. That made him no more comfortable, however. Emotions on display like that made his skin crawl.

"Don't hurt her," Draco pleaded quietly. The hands gripping his own robes had turned white, and trembled visibly. "Don't... don't hurt her." Realizing he had nothing more rational to add, his expression cracked again and he bowed his head back toward the floor.

The sight moved him, truly; his disgust for his wife and uncomfortable sympathy for and anger on behalf of his son were stronger than ever. He would make no promises, though. Even he didn't know yet whether he would hurt her or not. "Stay here," he repeated, and slipped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

His face settled back into a cold mask as he crossed the hall again. There were very few things Lucius Malfoy actually loved: himself, his son and his wife, and the Malfoy name and heritage... and Narcissa had just completely and permanently eradicated herself from that short list. The few things left on it he would protect mercilessly, even from her.

If she was smart – and he knew that she was, because he would not have married her if she were not – she would be gone by now. She had to know he wouldn't stand for this; he would like to think he did not come off cold enough that anyone would think he would sanction such heinous treatment of his child, especially his wife.

Smart as she was, however, he doubted she would be able to make herself go so suddenly, without conclusion... without seeing the effects of her actions. She might want to smirk at him on her way out. She did love attention so.

Even knowing that, it was a surprise to see her lounging casually on that couch in her indecently sheer dress. He had never seen the outfit before, he noted distantly... did she buy lingerie just to seduce their son? His eyes narrowed unconsciously.

"You didn't hurt the boy, I hope," she said, gracefully pushing herself to her feet. She had no shame, did she? There was absolutely no remorse in her.

"No. That's your doing." He stared down at her as she stepped closer, meeting her chilly blue eyes. He smoothly pushed his mind into hers, so subtly in habit that she would not even notice. And he found no guilt there either.

"I would never hurt my son... I love him."

She managed to say that with a straight face, and he considered her coolly, reigning back the Legillimency. In his desk he had disposable wands that he could use to kill her. He could even set the Dark Mark over her. Multipurpose camouflage like that appealed to him, making it look less like he had killed her while making him look less like a Death Eater. The Dark Lord would probably not fault him for that...

It was, unfortunately, probably not the best idea.

Her eyebrows rose at his silence. "What's the matter?" she asked. "I knew you were a jealous man, but he is your flesh and blood. Surely you won't begrudge your son his mother's love."

The sound of his hand hitting her face surprised even him; her expression was frozen in shock for a long moment, as the red print of his hand rose on her cheek. He hadn't met ot hit her, but, in retrospect, it was exactly what that statement deserved.

She continued to stare at him; he met her eyes without mercy. "We're getting a divorce," he said coldly.

"Divorce?" That roused her from her shock, and she gave her high laugh, as though it were absolutely inconceivable he was serious. Somehow she actually thought their family was going to stay together now; maybe she was every bit as insane as her sister. "Lucius, you're acting like a Muggle!"

"And you're acting like a _whore._" He spat the word in carefully controlled anger, letting her see just enough of the disgust she made him feel.

Her breath drew in sharply, then she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. Finally, she was realizing she had made him into her enemy; her expression grew icy and closed. That quickly she changed from the shallow, superior whore toying with him to the cold bitch that she truly was. "You may divorce me," she said, crossing her arms across her chest and looking at him with calculated defiance, "but nothing, not even you, is going to keep me from my son."

He resisted the urge to lift his own chin and look even further down at her, tempting as it was to show her his disdain. Posturing came so naturally to those of their station... but this was too important for that. "You make that sound like a threat, Narcissa."

"Take it as you will. I'm his mother; he _needs _me." She gave an unpleasant little smile, but he did not doubt for a moment that she meant what she said... and might even have believed it.

"He needs to never see you again – and if I have any say in it, he won't."

She looked him over without losing her smile. "You don't understand, do you? It isn't up to you. It's up to Draco, and he wants to be with me... He loves me." A triumphant smirk took over from the smile. "Better than you, I might add."

The words were barely out of her mouth before his wand was set to her throat. Her face went still, eyes slightly wide, but she didn't pull away and make a move for her own. Was she afraid of him? She should have known that he wouldn't be so careless as to do anything to her with his own wand... but perhaps she was smart to fear, because right now, even he didn't know that for sure. That statement put him on edge. Was it an implication that she thought Draco loved her more than he did him? She might have thought so and it might have been true. Or was it supposed to be a slight to his ability in bed? That was disgusting and unwarranted – and he absolutely did not care what a manipulative whore such as his wife had to say about either of those. It wasn't any meaning of her words that got to him... No, it was the fact that she would so casually refer to what she had done to their son that made it so hard to not simply kill her right here.

"Get dressed," he said icily. Despite the rage than made his voice burn cold, his hand didn't waver, and the tip of his wand pressed steadily, barely dimpling the fair skin of her throat. "Get out of my house, or your body will _never_ be found..."

She searched his face, her eyes flickering, obviously trying to determine how serious he was and how much she could get away with; she must have seen how close he was to the edge, because she said nothing before she turned her back on him. He kept his wand raised until she was in the doorway, when she paused and looked back at him. "You're losing that precious Malfoy control, Lucius."

He let her have that victory, though it burned, because it was hard to deny it. "Go," he said coldly.

Without another word, she went.

He followed her far enough to make sure she went upstairs, then turned back to the room where he had left Draco.

Draco didn't hear him slip into the room; he paused, door held partially open, and looked at him. His son was standing at the window with his arms crossed, staring out at the sunshine on the gardens. He had seen Draco agitated before, of course; he would pace, tap his fingers restlessly, never be still. He did none of those things now, though – he seemed to have collected himself. All things considered, Lucius was not certain whether that was a good sign or not.

There was precious little to be learned from simple observation, though, and too many questions he needed answers to, even if he didn't want to ask them. "Draco," he finally said, closing the door the rest of the way.

Draco started and turned around. His expression wasn't as composed as his posture, but he showed no sign of tears, just a little more paleness than normal, and the brief flash of a guilty look on his face. His eyes searched his face nervously. "Where...?"

"She's leaving," Lucius assured him, and watched Draco relax visibly. Was that because she wasn't going to be here any longer, or because he hadn't given in to the urge to kill her? "I'm divorcing her... I doubt you'll see her again. You won't if I have anything to say about it."

Draco swallowed and looked down, giving a small nod. He did not look thrilled, however. Lucius wasn't sure how to read that, but he remembered the confused mess of emotions that had briefly invaded his mind, and thought he more or less understood. He both loved and hated his mother, and never seeing her again would hurt.

That was a pain Lucius was willing to inflict on him for his own good.

He watched Draco silently for a few minutes, mentally preparing himself to ask those awkward questions. The pause allowed Draco to turn back to the window and grow pensive, but relax, probably adjusting to the new situation... The last half hour had introduced more tumult into all of their lives than they had seen since Draco had been a year old, when the Dark Lord fell...more tumult than Draco had ever seen. He would deal with it; he was a Malfoy and Malfoys adapted. Yet, it would not be easy for him.

He continued to watch Draco's back, and the faint reflection of his face in the window, as he spoke again. "When did this start?"

Draco stiffened and looked over his shoulder at him, eyes wide. "You're going to tell them..."

"Of course I'm not." He met Draco's eyes easily, attempting to be reassuring through the distance between them. Genuine reassurance did not come naturally to him. "No one needs to know about this. I don't need this as justification for a divorce, and the crime is better to punishment... outside the law. However, I do need to know..."

And why, exactly, did he need to know? He would not inform the ministry, he would not use the knowledge to ruin or blackmail her, any more he learned would bear little on any punishment he did finally decide on for her...

"Since I was eleven," Draco said quietly, looking down at the window sill. His fingers picked at the wood nervously. "The day I came back from Hogwarts for that first Christmas break. She..."

Draco trailed off into silence, and he closed his eyes. That was why he needed to know. Four years... Draco was only going to go into his fifth year now; she had been using their son for her depraved desires for almost four years, and he had never seen a sign, not so much as one single, solitary hint. They must have been there... What was _his_ excuse for allowing this to go on, behind his back, getting so far out of his control, for so long?

He put that aside to dwell on later and opened his eyes. Draco was still staring through the windowsill as his fingernails created splinters, not seeming to see it.

"Did you have sex?" he asked quietly, but bluntly, because there was no more delicate way to say it that would not sound false to both of them.

There was no answer. His son paused in picking at the window and just stared.

"Draco?"

"Yes." Draco's voice was so close to a whisper he almost didn't hear, but the word – while not a surprise – gave him a chill. "This summer... she wanted more... and..."

Two uncomfortable realizations hit him at the same time. The first was that Draco needed to talk about this situation, about what she had put him through and what he felt, and in talking maybe he could figure it out for himself. The second, and more uncomfortable, was that he couldn't hear it. He was not equipped in any way to hear outpourings of emotion, or to support, comfort, or sympathize with him, and the only reason he would want to hear more details than he already had was as fuel for his righteous anger against the woman who had done it. It would do no good for either of them if Draco were to turn to him for the support he needed. He could not help his son at all.

If Draco needed to be tutored, advised, protected, gotten out of trouble, even respected when he had done well, he could turn to him, but when he needed to be held, talked to, supported, or... well, loved, he would turn to his mother. And now he couldn't. Lucius loved his son, but he was uncomfortable even saying the word with any sincerity, and had probably not said it to Draco since he was too young to remember... No, he could not be the audience for this. Yet, who could he talk to? Draco had no close friends, only a circle of useful acquaintances, and even the broad outlines of this, let alone the details, could not go beyond this family; neither Draco nor the Malfoy name needed this kind of humiliation. This story would alienate him, and turn him into an object of either scorn or pity... And if he were being honest Lucius could not ignore the ramifications to his own reputation, if it were known he had been oblivious to something like this in his own house.

No, this could not go beyond these walls, for all their sakes. He would do what little he could on his own.

He reached out and put his hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco glanced up at him guiltily; it occurred to him that if he was going to succeed he would need to stop feeling he had done things wrong, or at least stop broadcasting it so well... but now wasn't the time for that lesson. "I'll get you a Pensieve if you want it."

Draco nodded a little bit and leaned his forehead on the window. "I'll think about it."

He nodded and squeezed his shoulder, then let him go. "I'm going to make the arrangements so that we'll be shut of her."

Draco didn't answer, and he paused as he turned away. For a moment he just considered him. "You aren't to blame," he finally said.

Draco raised his eyes and looked at his reflection in the window, but didn't speak, and finally, he turned and left the room, shutting it silently behind him. There would be a mountain of paperwork to be filled out for this, and nosy inquiries to field, and perhaps more serious official attention... He would need a story that Narcissa would not refute, or at least that it would not matter if she did. Divorce among wizards was rare – partly thanks to the mountain of paperwork the Ministry required – and among old Pureblood families so disgraceful it was almost unheard of. Not even a hundred years ago it had been illegal, though, so he supposed he was lucky.

This was going to raise some eyebrows, however... There would be those who would be sure it had something to do with the Dark Lord, and he certainly didn't want ideas going that direction, misleading though it was.

He was actually at his desk, drafting his letter to the Ministry with his mind lost in the delicate maze of intricate maneuvering he would have to do, when he heard the tell-tale crack of Apparition only a few rooms away. With a frown, he was on his feet with his wand in hand even before he heard the voice yell "Aurors, Mister Malfoy!"

That hardly mollified him. Wand still in hand, he moved quickly to the door, only to meet the pair of them in the hall – the tall black Auror with the earring, and a scroll that looked official, and the girl who had Narcissa's nose, at least for the moment, under her purple hair.

"Shacklebolt," he said coldly. "I do believe you're trespassing."

"We're here on Ministry business," Shacklebolt assured him. There was obviously no love lost from that end either... "We're here to take you and your son into custody. Surrender your wand peacefully. Go find your cousin," he added to the girl.

"On it," Tonks said, and brushed past him with barely a glance. He resisted the urge to reach out and stop her, by force. This was not a good day for a surprise invasion by Aurors...

"This is ludicrous," he said, wand firmly held in his hand. "You have no right to be here, and the Minister shall hear of this."

"The Minister has already heard; he signed the arrest order himself, when he heard how your wife wanted to file for a divorce on the grounds that you are abusive toward her and your son... and, of course, are a Death Eater."

Lucius ground his teeth, fuming silently. That bitch would not get away with this... not with blaming him for what _she _had done... and not with turning him in to the Ministry, to think he had actually trusted her... He _would not_ let her do this.

Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a faint smile. It must have pleased him to see him trapped like this. The bastard...

"Father?"

He looked over his shoulder, and saw Tonks accompanying Draco down the hall. He had a slight frown on his face, and he could see he wasn't letting her touch him.

"Don't say anything, Draco," he instructed, looking back at the Auror. "I'll take care of this."

Shacklebolt held out his hand. "Your wand, Malfoy."

And, because he hand no choice that did not involve killing two Aurors and fleeing the country, he gritted his teeth and handed it over.

Shacklebolt made a note on the scroll that he had collected his wand, then rolled it up and put it away. "You're under arrest, Lucius Malfoy," he said, "for the crime of serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He reached out and grabbed Lucius's left arm; he pulled it away, but not before he pulled the sleeve up and exposed the Dark Mark glaring from his pale skin. "What's this?"

"You know full well I received that mark during You-Know-Who's first reign, when I was under the Imperius curse," he said coldly.

"I know that's the excuse you got away with at the time. I don't think even you're slippery enough to get out of it a second time."

"Let him go!"

They both looked to find Tonks holding Draco's hand to keep him from using his wand. The teen glared daggers at Shacklebolt, not even sparing a few for her.

"Don't make us get you in trouble for underage magic and attacking Aurors," she warned him. He spared a second to give her a sneer.

"Draco." Lucius caught his son's attention. "I will handle this," he repeated, meeting his eyes. He had this under control, or would shortly, but they did not need Draco making the situation worse. He had gotten out of an equally true Death Eater accusation before, and he would again, as long as Draco let him focus and not have to worry about him as well.

Draco scowled and yanked his hand from Tonks', but shoved his wand into his robe and made no move to intimidate them again.

Lucius nodded very slightly and turned his eyes to Shacklebolt. "Narcissa is an unfit mother," he stated. "I trust Draco will not be given to her custody."

"He'll be placed in alternative custody until the divorce is settled, per standard procedure."

That would give him some time, then. He did not resist as Shacklebolt grabbed his arm to side-along Apparate him to the Ministry.

_~TBC~_


End file.
